We sloshed along,

I’m writing another short story, inspired by eight answers from a random Octordle – a word puzzle where you have to guess eight random words. The words I found which I’m going to include in the story are

fully
amble
flier
brine
weigh
hefty
venom
zesty

Sarah has been invited by a friend to stay with Mr and Mrs Flier to celebrate New Year. They live in Tump House, a large old property in a country area, situated on a tump (a small hillock, maybe a tumulus) and surrounded by low farmland. The friend unexpectedly departs, leaving Sarah with people who are virtually strangers, but very friendly strangers. On January 2nd, Ada, one of the other guests, maybe a relative of the hosts, suggests they go out for a walk, despite the wintry conditions.

Here is the next part:

I was warm enough, all wrapped up and with my waterproof on over the top of my jacket and my walking boots well laced-up. They were hefty enough to cross almost any terrain, but I’d had them for ages and when had I last water-proofed them?
I tried to appreciate being out in the fresh air after several days inside, but to be honest, although it was no longer raining, the sky was a variety of ominous shades of grey, heavy and full, loaded with more rain or maybe snow. The air was so damp and a nasty smell hung over the rather sinister looking water which lay on the fields as far as the eye could see.
Thankfully Ada was silent as we sloshed along, we walked in single file, her leading the way as we headed down the centre of the curving drive and out of the gates. There was a style which we clambered over and followed a very muddy and slippery footpath which I guessed circumnavigated the tump.
“What did you think of the stuffing for the goose?” Ada suddenly turned back to me.
“The goose?”
“The goose we had yesterday, our traditional New Year’s Day lunch – we always start the year with goose. For some reason Gillian decided not to follow the traditional and did some fancy new stuffing – a zesty lime farce, she called it. Farce au citron vert!”
Who was Gillian? What was the big deal with the stuffing? Honestly, I began to think Ada had more than one screw loose.
“She refused to brine the goose, that was why it was so tough! We always brine the goose!” Ada gave me such a fierce look I stepped back and somehow stepped off the footpath and my boot filled with icy water.
In typical English fashion I apologised for not knowing the goose was unbrined and we had suffered zesty lime farce, as I tried to regain my footing.
“No matter, but remember next year!” she exclaimed as if I was likely to be invited back. She marched on and with a freezing foot I followed.